


There and Back Again: A Summary of HSO Bonus Prompts

by oxfordRoulette



Category: Homestuck, Metropolis (1927), SCP Foundation
Genre: Angst, Bill Cosby - Freeform, Crack, F/F, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Humor, M/M, Multi, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxfordRoulette/pseuds/oxfordRoulette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fills from this summer's grand romp. Featuring a wide sampler platter of genres.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joy Ride - Dave Strider and Terezi Pyrope

**Author's Note:**

> From the "Soundtrack" Round.  
> [Original prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/19337.html?thread=3084681#cmt3084681)

You pick her up on the corner, your veins pulsing and blue as your best bro's texts. It's not like you're into this shit, interspecies copulation and discovering the ins and outs of troll mammalian protuberances, but this is a bet you made with yourself that you have to win at all costs. You're not exactly sure what you're gambling, but there's some mundane thoughts buzzing around in your head about figuring yourself out and getting over some breakups in the past. There's also a dash of fetishism thrown in there but that adds something to the recipe you're not comfortable with tasting.

You picked that one because she was giving you looks across the seedy Nevada club you chose to loiter at. The way she stuck her tongue out at you and slobbered troll juices across the top of her dinosaur bra-panties set seemed so completely alien to you in comparison with the rest of your failed relationships. If you're going to go for this, you might as well go all out, guns a'blazin'.

You've got her in the front seat, driving past motel after motel, asking her if it "smells like sweet candy syrup" just so you can get laid. You've never really talked to a prostitute before, but you're 89% sure they shouldn't be this picky based on the taste of the neon sign.

You settle down at a gaudy 50's themed cockroach castle. She doesn't seem to mind the springs poking at her ass on the gravestone bed, and you don't really give a damn either since you're getting what you came for.

You don't expect her to really enjoy it. You're expecting a few porn gasps from her, some seedy dialogue, maybe a fake orgasm or two, but the girl is so damn into it. Her foreplay (Was that foreplay? You have no idea) involved a ritualistic tongue bath from the top of your head to your nasty ass feet, which led to the most confusing boner you've ever popped in your life. And the sounds she made, they were whispers and moans into your stomach and body, talking nonsense about what to do and where to do it. The entire thing flowed so well it put every rap you've ever dripped out of your mouth to the sweetest shame you've ever felt.

You ask her name at the end. Her real one, not "Titsflash Uniboob" or whatever she called herself. It's Terezi. As sharp and weird as her whole being. You talk through the night, and there is no way in hell you want to leave this bitch standing cold at the door, so you take the long route back to her place. If by long you mean, "cross desert roadtrip extravaganza."

You end up in motel after motel, smelling sweetly of romance and saliva.


	2. SCP-████ - Jade Harleyc3< Feferi Peixes and Rose Lalonde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the SCP wiki.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/13513.html?thread=2159305#cmt2159305)

**Item #:** SCP-████

 **Object Class:** Euclid

 **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-████ must be held in a completely darkened 4m by 4m concrete holding cell. The hallway leading to SCP-████'s chamber should be kept as dark as possible for 30m. SCP-████ should be bound to the wall at all times, with a blindfold covering her eyes. A damp environment is to be maintained constantly due to the appearance of SCP-████-1. Cameras observing SCP-████ must be equipped with infrared photography capability. All interactions with SCP-████ (and therefore SCP-████-1 and SCP-████-2) are to be done in complete darkness with pre-assigned night vision goggles. Should SCP-████ be exposed to any light, without the appearance of SCP-████-1 or SCP-████-2, Class One cosmic containment procedures must be initiated.

 **Description:** SCP-████ resembles a young woman with average build, wearing a black dress. The dress takes the form of constantly moving dark tentacles from undetermined genus. Her skin is a dark grey color, while her hair is unnaturally white. Linguistic data gathered from SCP-████ cannot be deciphered.

SCP-████ was found in a janitors closet in Site ███, in an inactive state, with instructions for containment written on a note stuck to her chest. The writing was in large, loopy green font and had a friendly style. Currently, it is believed SCP-████-2 wrote this letter.

SCP-████ remains inactive until an entity appears in her presence. If a staff member enters her chamber, she will become extremely agitated and begin to shout out nonsensically until the staff is consumed, where she will return to her dormant state.

When SCP-████ is exposed to light, usually due to the intervention of SCP-████-1, SCP-████ will create high impact energy beams from the light itself. The power seems to be dependant on how large of a light source she receives. She will break out of her bonds and consume all living things she encounters in search of SCP-████-1 until the intervention of SCP-████-2.

 **SCP-████-1:** SCP-████-1 is a apparition which is unviewable by camera. Witnesses have described SCP-████-1 as a fish-like human girl with horns and grey skin. She appears in costume, similar to SCP-████-2, but with far lighter colors. Her eyes are completely white with no pupils. SCP-████-1 becomes agitated if the environment around her is dry, and will provide SCP-████ with a larger light source if it does not suit her tastes. Linguistic data picked up from communication between SCP-████ and SCP-████-1 reveal SCP-████-1 speaks an alien language from [DATA EXPUNGED].

SCP-████-1 and SCP-████ appear to comprehend each other, and their conversation usually devolves into bickering, until the intervention of SCP-████-2. When SCP-████-2 appears, SCP-████-1 will appear guilty, and vanish.

 **SCP-████-2:** SCP-████-2 is a young woman with the same build as SCP-████. She wears a costume similar to SCP-████-1, but in very dark colors. She has animal ears on the top of her skull, but if they are real or not is yet to be determined. SCP-████-2 will only appear to constrain SCP-████ and drive SCP-████-1 away. For a transcription of the dialogue that occurs, see Document-████-1. Any efforts to capture SCP-████-2 have resulted in the temporary removal of personnel from the space-time continuum.

 **Note from Site Head Dr. ███████:** Maybe we should stop trying to contain this kid, she seems to be cool with us. Besides, she's helping us keep this SCP in her place, so why interfere with that?

>Document-████-1: Transcription of Dialogue between SCP-████ and SCP-████-2

SCP-████-2: Stop! Just stop! How many times do I have to do this!  
SCP-████: Tiy hikvayrh gu'lvyot ytracgh!  
SCP-████-1: [NO TRANSLITERATION AVAILABLE]  
SCP-████-2: Look, I get it, I understand, I know you want to be together. But this is the only way to keep everyone safe!  
SCP-████: Nyat!  
SCP-████-1: (Reacts with a negative gesture) [NO TRANSLITERATION AVAILABLE]  
SCP-████-2: Oh please, everyone knows. Now Fe████, you gotta get back to your bubble, okay. I just have to keep you apart for a little longer, until we have a way to get [DATA EXPUNGED] out of Ro██.  
SCP-████-1:(SCP-████-1 dissipates through a pocket plane from SCP-████-2's hand)  
SCP-████-2: I promise, not much longer.  
SCP-████: (Reacts violently towards SCP-████-2) Grep'pi ng aptget sudo!

SCP-████-2 collapses the space around visible light sources and [DATA EXPUNGED] until SCP-████ is re-contained. She then vanishes into her own plane of space.


	3. Friday Night - The Signless and Grandpa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Soundtrack" bonus round.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/19337.html?thread=3093129#cmt3093129)

You wake up in someone's bed, staring at a ceiling covered in posters of blue women, head filled with pain and 20 different sermons about the negative side effects of alcohol on a troll's body. You adjust slightly, feeling your digestive sac churn and staring at the sixteen inky club stamps plastered on your arms. Thou Must not go Clubbing on Friday Nights too Violently: the first rule of the Ten Commandments of Partying Hard. You're glad you're so good at following your own advice.

You feel the tickle of a few hairs on the side of your neck. You turn your head slightly to see some sort of human hair monstrosity. Oh Holy Yourself on High, how does any mere mortal grow such a large moustache? His glasses reflect your face, and it appears you are wearing a safari hat. You look down and it also appears you are wearing riding boots. And nothing else. These will probably become holy relics later. You take note to save them for archiving purposes.

The gentleman next to you is holding a riding crop, and is covered in Mardi Gras beads. Strategically, you correct yourself. Strategically covered in Mardi Gras beads. Were you playing ring toss? You might never know.

You sit up cautiously, careful not to disturb the human.

"Well hello, good man! I see you're awoken on this fine morning!"

Well, that didn't go over well.

"You might need to make yourself some breakfast," the man continues. "I'm not feeling chipper enough to supply you with some. In fact, I would just like to stay here."

"Excuse me, kind sir," you begin, attempting to calm your stomach. "It appears I forgot your name in the commotion of Friday night. If it is not rude of me, I would like to be informed of it."

"Haha well aren't you a polite dandy! You can call me Grandpa!"

"Uh... That's a little weird, might I ask your real name?"

"That's not what you said last night."

Oh.

"What else did you forget?" Grandpa asks.

"Most of it, actually. I remember just wanting a drink at the pub, but I guess things spiralled out of control. I apologise for being a burden on you."

"Oh haha, no, you were no burden," the man chuckled. "Maybe a little. I was actually a bouncer at the club you went to! You weren't allowed in since you had ripped your bizarre pantssuit at the time, but you managed to climb in through the window of the mens room! I had to track you down and..."

"... and what?"

"... teach you a lesson..."

Your face has taken the expression of tasting awful wine that you are about to turn into water.

"... In dance!" finishes Grandpa. "We danced until two am! Then we went out to get steak pies and kababs and all sorts of other delectables! Then we came here and had a good, wholesome, family friendly time."

"Really?"

"Hell no, boy! Don't you understand sarcasm?"

"I guess not."

"Stick with me, and I will teach you the ways of supreme and classic humour! I'm feeling a little more fit now, I say we have a good and healthy breakfast of scrambled eggs and crisps."

That is the ultimate hangover food. Chapter 6, verse 3 of your gospel says so.

You accept the man's offer, and promise yourself you wont go out next Friday.

Oh, who are you kidding, Friday nights are so much fun.


	4. Take me on the Floor - John and Vriska

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Soundtrack" bonus round.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/19337.html?thread=3114633#cmt3114633)

You're not really a guy for clubs, you're more of the "Hey! Let's chill at the Applebees bar and get hit on by some MILF cougars!" kind of dude. And maybe the MILF part isn't so fun, but you're always surrounded by your best bros and lady-bros and that's enough for you!

But he insists, all shades and "Wow Egbert, you really have to try this place the babes are _choice. Completely unforgettable._ " You agreed because you were impressed that he managed to make his voice sound like italics.

You didn't know that you had to drive from Washington to California to get to the damn place. 3 hours is too much to drive for a club, but you did have a fun time on the roadtrip there. You listened to shitty music in preparation for the shitfest about to go down as Rose called out lyrics she didn't know from the back seat.

You arrive, wait in line, and get carded like the best of them. You split from your friends at the insistence of Dave and Jade, who were both eager to find some anonymous face to fuck on the dance floor. They may or may not actually do that, but you can imagine.

The lights turn red and flash, and you hope no one in the crowd has a severe case of epilepsy, when you see her.

You let your mouth hang open, gasping in sweet awe. She's wearing daisy dukes, a bikini, and an eye-patch.

That is the lamest shit you've ever seen in your life.

She sees you staring at her. Oh shit, she's coming over. You try to hide underneath your bottle of Smirnoff Ice, before you realise that probably makes you look like the hugest pussy this side of the Pacific.

"Hey sexy!" she lisps into your face, drawing out the e to 8 beats per measure. You smell the ale oozing from between her teeth. "Do you know what song is playing right now?"

"Uh-"

"THAT'S RIGHT! You are a winner! It's Turn Me On by Nicki Minaj! Speaking of which, you know what I want to do with you right now?"

"Oh... Oh god... Uh, play... scrabble?"

"HahahahaHAHAHAHA no," her face becomes serious. "Doctor, doctor, I need you to... Turn me on."

You stare at her blankly. She grabs you by the arm and you really don't give enough fucks to resist, so you join her on the dance floor. She spends the entire time with her ass bent at a 90 degree angle and existing uncomfortably up in your nether regions, and your awkward flailing doesn't help anything progress smoothly. She winks at you when the song transitions (or blinks, you're not actually sure about this), and pushes you onto one of the tables surrounding the bar. You land flat on your back and you're very confused.

"You know, Gerome, if that is your real name-"

"It's not."

"I really like you!!!!!!!! I'm just going to slip my cell phone number into your pocket right here and damn I would love it if you called me when we're both sobered up. I'd be a lucky lady if you decided to ring me up tomorrow."

She punches you playfully in the arm, then dissipates into the crowd.

\--------

 

You wake up in the hotel the next morning, more fortunate than your hungover friends. You dig in your pants pockets for your phone, when a piece of paper slips out. Oh yeah, that weird girl. You debate calling her or not. She was probably the most interesting thing to happen to you in your sleepy clubbing life, maybe you should give her a chance. You could see maybe one day, she'll have your heartbeat running away, beating like a drum and it's--

Enough of that. You text her.

hey! i'm that dude you threw on the table from last night. we should go out sometime. applebees?


	5. Metropolis - Jake English and Eridan Ampora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Roadtrip" bonus round.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/20726.html?thread=3325430#cmt3325430)  
> Based on the film "Metropolis."

You were never meant to meet, but lolly-gagging with your waves of topless Biblical bitches got boring, and you followed him into depths unsuitable for even your right pinky toe. You stood out awkwardly amongst the workers in the tired tunnels, but all of them ignored your scent when Jake started preaching about equality. His words were like huge rubber bullets shooting through rock. Unbelievably powerful, but he was no orator. Not like you.

Loneliness had crept up on you and overtook you at the top of your city. Your friends were superfluous and would betray you for a mediocre sloe gin. When you watched him that day in the rocks, you fell into a blissful state hampered by greed, wanting to take him and pap him until your shallow, wealthy skin fell away.

You had a long adventure. Stories for another time and day, stories about robot clones, lost loves, and barren prostitution. At the end, you two had become something different.

No longer the head. No longer the hands. You are both the heart. The sweet tie between the proletariat and skankily rich.

So, here you wait. In your airship teetering to the Tower of Babel. The boy who loved firearms but spoke against them sits shotgun.

[You turn on the radio.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t63_HRwdAgk)

Jake tells you he loves the song. You do too. There's silence between you as you look at the journey ahead. Your last bit of freedom --a joy ride allotted to you-- before you fall into responsibility and fulfil your ever beating role.

"What do you say we get going, old chap?" he grins.

"I don't want this trip to ever fucking end," you say. "We'll be working for equality until the day we die, and for what?"

"This trip wont end, Eridan," he says, lightly tapping your hand. "The road ahead will last forever if we want it to. Even when we return, there are plenty of new, boot-buckling adventures waiting for us!"

You check the propeller one last time, then ride the wind into new heights.


	6. Never Forget You - Dave Strider and Terezi Pyrope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the "Soundtrack" bonus round.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/19337.html?thread=3093129#cmt3093129)

She's bones and class and everything you remember, sharp in your mind like a pencil held by a standardised test taking 3rd grader. She taps her shot glass of whiskey on rocks, slicking back her hair with pointy nails you wish would dig hard into your skin. You see yourself, dapper as fuck, classy in this side-of the-road city pub, reflected against the red sun of her eyes.

"Did you miss me, Dave?" she smiles, teeth set against a smoky background, lipstick scattered around the corners--shot with a black paintball gun.

"Naw, TZ," you lie. You lie through your teeth. You dream about her every night, her hips moving through your clouded thoughts at every sleepless wink you perform. You've dreamt every goddamn day since she ran away with the shitfaced troll, since she ran away with the schitzo cop, since the prosthetic bitch, since the insane furfag.

"Wont you have a double with me?" she gestures at your empty glass, halfheartedly flicking her decorated wrists out towards your indoor shades.

You grip your late-afternoon delight of a glass hard between your palms. The chill starts to melt into your fingers. You miss her, you long for her like a heroin addict and nothing is going to ease that itch where the syringe will enter.

You accept her offer.

\----------

 

It's been too many hours to count (six and three quarters), and somehow you've ended up outside by the port, listening to the sounds of the hot and ticking city clash with flowing and thinking ocean. You can't see shit out of your shades, your head is far too light, and you're way too drunk for this.

"Let's get back together," you sputter out, directing your voice towards the bench you think she is lying down on.

You hear the wrinkles in her suit move.

"We lasted a hell of a long time, baby doll," you continue, spray from the ocean stinging your face. "It's been four hundred and sixty seven days since I last saw you, and yes, I've counted every single pathetic minute of that because I have been so goddamn bored without you. Stick me in a basement, surround me with creepy newspaper clippings, and call me a fucking Pyropephile, I don't give a shit. I've been wandering a melted 7th circle of hell without you, and I'm lost as fuck."

She stands up, tapping her cane towards you, and brushes against your chest. "We're all lost here," she grins. "We just have different ways of finding ourselves."

"That's not an answer," you shake.

"So come and find me, Dave."

"That isn't an answer either, that's just some archaic metaphorical bullshit I'm too drunk to decipher."

She frowns then, putting her hand up to your face, feeling for your lips, your nose, your soul. It's possibly the most violating thing you've ever experienced but there's no way you'll betray yourself by crying out in joy and pain.

She whispers something in your ear, something too quiet and deep to be picked up by any mere mortal. But the feeling of it sticks with you, the feeling of travelling a dusty road under the stars with a girl who will spell the end for you.

And you'll let her play you, as long as you both will make it.


	7. St. Olaf - Aradia Megido and Jade Harley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Roadtrips" bonus round.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/20726.html?thread=3355638#cmt3355638)  
> Set at St. Olaf College.

You finish your soup then shove two trays down your shirt at the encouragement of Dave and Rose. John takes the other two. You have no idea how they got out of smuggling these babies, but they somehow won you over with "it's tradition, we never dirty our hands with fiberglass splinters" and well, you can't argue with that.

You both make it past the angry caf guard (how do they not notice your chest is a box???) and giggle down a flight of stairs and outside into the winter wind.

"Shit, man," Dave shudders. "Why did I decide to go here? This is like a typhoon of everything I'm not adapted to."

"You say this every year!" you reply. "Music program, duh."

"Besides," John says. "This is perfect weather for sledding! It builds character and general manliness!"

"Fuck your manliness, let me have my cargo shorts and sunburn."

You shake off your shoes in your room at Melby, an old old dorm that you've always loved to run around in. You get an excuse to do this once in a while because you're an RA and that's part of your job. Good job, best benefits.

You plop the tray down on your bed, and writhe in excitement for the annual late-night sledding party. You're on duty at 11, but after that it's a free-for-all shitfest of getting your butt wet with snow and unwashed dishware.

The lights flicker after your first shift. It's nothing new, it does that sometimes, but just in your room. Sometimes you like to pretend its haunted. You've heard stories of ghostly women in white at campfires and Halloween events, but you think most of it is a load of bull (except for that one about the dead man hanging up a hat on a phone, that one gives you the heebie-jeebies!).

You study biochem until 11, then step out with your binder into the hallway. Nothing eventful, no students smoking or drinking (loudly, anyway! You're not a mean RA), and you return to your room.

The lights are off. You never turn your lights off for shifts, but maybe one of your friends snuck in here when you weren't looking. You flick the light switch. Nothing happens.

This looks like a bad prank in the making. "Ahahahaha, uh, John? Are you in here?" you say.

No answer. Maybe the lightbulb burnt out? You're debating whether you should break into the supply room or go find a janitor to change it, when the door slams shut behind you, knocking you to the floor.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it that hard! Are you alright?"

You try to say, "Oh my gosh! Who said that? Are you a ghost?" but it comes out more like a quiet scream in the back of your throat.

A figure flickers in front of your glasses. It kind of looks like an old movie missing a few frames here and there, stilted and jumpy, not really with a physical form. She's a grey looking girl, with long hair that probably was the color of yours in life, and a ripped, white dress.

"You're- you're the woman in white!" you say, not sure what to do. Talk to it? Call John and get him to bring his ghost-busting vacuum over?

"I think so! That's what the stories about me say!" she laughs, then sits down in front of you. "My name is Aradia! I think your name is Jade?"

"It is," you say. You're a little bit nervous, talking to a ghost. What kinds of questions do you ask a ghost? "Um, Aradia? If you don't mind me asking... Why are you talking to me of all people?"

"I've been hanging out in this room for EONS!" she says, excitedly. "I always appear to whoever lives here around this time of year. It's part of the fun of being dead."

"I see?" you don't really.

"Anyway! I have a favor to ask of you! An activity to grant to a passing soul. Consider it part of... the journey. To my afterlife. Like a big, dead roadtrip. Spanning like, a hundred years and involving a lot of sledding."

"Ask away!" Granting a wish to a ghost? Sounds exciting!

"Would you take me sledding with you tonight?"

"I guess? How will you fit on the tray?"

"Oh, I'll grab onto you! Don't worry about that. And your friends probably wont see me either, so there is nothing to worry about."

You were not expecting this adventure! You agree and ask Aradia a few questions. She's annoyingly vague about the afterlife, but she seems like a really cool person! You make her promise to talk to you after tonight.

You run to Old Main to meet your friends, Aradia floating behind you and glistening in the lights. She was right, they don't see her... Which is too bad, because you wanted to show her off to your pals! Oh well.

You mount your trays at the top of the hill. You try to squeeze yourself tightly on your tray, but you always end up being too big for it so your legs float off the end. You feel a little warmer when Aradia snuggles up to you and wraps her arms around your neck. You're about to ask for a push from Rose, but Aradia flicks her wrist and a strong gust of wind blows you down the hill.

You both screech with excitement as you slide down the steep hill, flying off bumps in the way, and finally falling off your makeshift sled and rolling a few feet before coming to a halt in the big snowy field.

"Hey, Aradia," you ask, dabbing your face with your mittens. "When does your big, interstellar roadtrip on a sled come to a close?"

"Not for a while. I'm having too much fun haunting this place!" she smiles and grabs your hand. "What do you say we begin the trek back up?"

"No fair," you say. "You don't have legs! You don't get to feel the pain of this in the morning!"

She just laughs.


	8. Texas - Dave Strider and Terezi Pyrope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Roadtrips" bonus round.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/20726.html?thread=3341558#cmt3341558)

She's been lulling about your apartment building, rolling on the carpet and snuggling into the Internests you taught her how to make. While the pupil has become the master in the aspect of laziness, you think this might be overdoing it. You're not going to let a sweet boned chica have her way in this brave new world. No orgy porgy mixes of secondhand lazy red gunk for her, she should be getting the freshest shit Texas has to offer.

You struggle to get her out of the apartment door frame. This is the kind of stuff you see in cartoons, where she's literally extending her body to heights unconquered and her nails are leaving marks on the door as you play tug of war with her legs. You win because she's become pretty decrepit from digital media and law book atrophy. It's only when you have her strapped, belted, and nailed in your pickup (you call it shitty shitty bang bang) that she admits she was being a little childish. You say something witty but she isn't listening because she's slobbering over your rear-view mirror and telling you all those fireworks packed in-between suitcases have to be illegal. Somewhere.

She needs fresh air, fresh road, and fresh sun. You plan out this trip like a bridezilla about to get married, stopping everywhere you can in the state where you were born and festered. Your favorite tourist tar pits include the spray painted cadilac ranch (for the colors), the creationist flavored fossil museum (for the laugh track), and Austin for a roller derby (so you can both watch some sweet girl-on-girl carnage).

At the beginning she's practicing her zen by being one with the carseat. You drag her into some hilarious cave with a green dinosaur lurking inside, but she doesn't lick a single overweight Texan. It irks you that she's not appreciating this shit like she should, this is a top quality, 4.0 GPA tourist trap. The next few days go the same, until one night at a motel you would rather not name, where you woke up at 3:00AM and found her in the empty dirt outside. She had dust in her hair and was smelling the stars, and you nuzzled her head like a pussy until she told you of herself and how pitiful this human planet was. You thought pity was a troll-love-pheromone-boner-emotion, and she didn't respond to that logical quip. Instead she gives you this spiel about how this wasn't what she was expecting at the end of the road and you say save it honey, life is a highway. You feel shitty about quoting that awful song but she just rolls over and falls right asleep. You carry her back.

Slowly she emerges from her metaphorical hive and by the end of your patented month long Dave Strider roadtrip extravaganza, you're both sitting in the back of the auditorium in Austin, booing the Oklahoma City derby girls after a few beers and a lot of lovin'.

She doesn't want to go back to your apartment, and you don't really either. You go back anyway, but just for a week. She asks you why and you tell her because you gotta plan our next trip. This time, she says, this time I'll help too.


	9. In Which Karkat Vantas Comes Down With a Case of the Cosby - Dave Strider and Karkat Vantas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the "Soundtrack" bonus round.  
> [Original Prompt](http://hs-olympics.dreamwidth.org/19337.html?thread=3121289#cmt3121289)

Stepping through the hallowed halls of the grey meteor, Karkat Vantas finds a treasure chest. Unlike the 20 billion he left behind him, completely unopened due to the sheer stupidity of the concept, Karkat pauses at this particular lock. It's argyle. Argyle in clashing primary colors. His Kanaya sensibilities make him shudder with boiling rage as he touches the woolen texture of the edging. There is no way she will believe this inanimate monstrosity actually exists on the meteor.

Out of sheer horror, he opens the box. What lies inside is worse than any punishment the Grand Highblood could deal out. It's a sweater. A knit sweater. Karkat is vaguely aware this sweater represents everything awful about the human time period known as "the 80's," but that's not why this swath of fabric is the worst thing he's ever laid his globulars on.

[It changes](http://www.thecosbysweaterproject.com/). The pattern on the thing changes every few seconds. Each pattern is worse than the last. A 12th Perigee's Eve scene with meowbeasts, neutral toned squares with plaid printing, a scene of a family in a hive, the list keeps growing. Karkat stares in horror as each iteration of the pattern flashes into his thinkpan. Sweet flying assholes, the look on Kanaya's face if she sees this... No, even better, the look on Dave's face.

Karkat smiles. Wearing this thing might be worth the pain if it means seeing what his comrades will do.

\----------

 

yo flower of my life and bane of my loins you wouldnt happen to know where shitfaced mcbitchtroll is

Oh, Karkat? Why? Are you reconsidering his erotic threesome offer?

goddammit no i mean why would i even consider that bullshit  
i know my dick is in high demand like the stock market is rising baby better buy all the tickets for huge cock company  
because the strider bull market is going strong  
no but really i just want to see if he dug up anything on the meteor  
im as bored as hell and im not going to take this anymore

A scream echoes from across the hallway.

Sounds like you're in luck, Dave.

Kanaya is standing with her hands on her face, mouth gaping open at the horror of her friend. Karkat is struggling wildly, trying to pull off the godawful sweater.

holy shit

Is that-

Karkat Vantas You Get That Disaster Off Of Your Body Immediately Or I Will Be Forced To Remove It Using The Technique I Like To Call  
The Eridan Ampora

I'M ZIP ZOP ZOOBITY TRYING OKAY? IT'S NOT HIP HOPPING COMING OFF.

Rose and Dave fall to the floor, laughing loud enough to wake the dead.

WHAT IN THE JAZZY ZAZAZA'S ARE YOU HIP KIDDIES LAUGHING ABOUT? THIS IS SOME SORT OF GOO GOO GA CURSE, OKAY. SERIOUS FLIP FLOPPITY BUSINESS.

Dave manages to squeak out a comment through the tears.

hey  
hahahaha  
hey karkat  
you know what i like to play  
hahaha  
pokemon

Everyone can see Karkat's face twisting in pain as he tries to resist the inevitable reply.

P-  
PPP-  
POKEYMAHN!!!

Rose and Dave clutch at their stomachs in pain as they roll on the floor screeching.

YOU UNDIGNIFIED PIGGY PIG KIDDOS! I TOLD YOU WAY BACK IN THE BEFORE TIMES WITH THE JAZZ AND THE HUMMING THAT THIS IS SERIOUS! ESPECIALLY YOU, YOU YOUPIE-DO STRIDER. YOU ARE ZIPPIN' ZIP PATHETIC.

hahahaha oh this is fucking rich haha

Oh, hahaha, oh Karkat. You appear to have come down with the case of the-

hahaha

The Cosbies.

More screeching is heard from the humans as Kanaya and Karkat stare dumbfounded.

How Does He Cure This Unfortunate Disease

Rose sits up, wiping tears from her eyes.

Hmm, well, I suppose you just have to take off the sweater.

AND HOW DO I GO ABOUT ZOOMING THE SWEATIN' SWEATER OFF OF ME?

oh gosh karkat keep talking please

NO NO NOPEADOOP.

Rose tries to cough away the laughter. It doesn't work very well.

Just taking a guess here, but that sweater probably represents all that is Bill Cosby. In fact, I would say this garment is the essence of Cosby, so we should blast it with the direct opposite force to neutralise the power. Dave, help me think of something that's the opposite of the Cosby Show.

wow okay put this topic on the list of "conversations i never thought id be having ever"  
so the cosby show is all like family friendly and 80s and shit  
i can think of like twenty different things that are the opposite of family friendly that we could subject karkat to  
like bukkake

Um, no. I don't think we have to resort to such extreme measures  
Although I'm glad the first thing you think of when discussing non-family friendly forms of media is bukkake.  
I will never forget this..

great

I think just a butt grab or something along those lines will do. Dave, grab Karkat's rump.

what no what  
why me why not kanaya

The homoerotic activity of this action would bump the television rating another step.

who are these rating council members and why are they so homophobic

Just grab the rump, Dave.

Dave makes spirit fingers movements at a statuesque Karkat. Karkat's face begins to sweat from the pain of keeping his mouth shut. Dave moves his hand steadily downwards, pausing around the outer thigh of the troll. Karkat begins to struggle, but Kanaya smacks him lightly on the back of his head.

MMMPHZIPPITYMMPH

Dave continues around the thigh of Karkat, pausing slightly above the plump right buttcheek of the troll. He wiggles his fingers again as Karkat squirms.

He presses down with a strong grab, strong enough to throw ten trees at a caber toss. Karkat squeaks as the sweater stops on a cheery scene with a snowman. He punches Dave in the face.

THAT IS FOR FUCKING WITH ME WHEN I WAS UNDER A CURSE WORSE THAN BEING PURSUED BY A MURDEROUS CLOWN.

yeah youre welcome buddy

The sweater is still there, somewhere, hidden under piles of discarded coffee mugs and wizard fanfiction.

Memories of the 80's, Cosby, and sweet sweet rump grabs.


End file.
